


get on your hands and knees and pray for us

by Eloquent_Dreams



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Whump, Yennefer and Jaskier are imprisoned together, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Whump, honestly this can be read as platonic or romantic, i already made a oneshot with yennefer comforting jaskier in prison, mentions/aftermath of torture but no torture happens in the fic, nilfgaard stinks, so we're switching it up my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquent_Dreams/pseuds/Eloquent_Dreams
Summary: Jaskier hung his head, burying it against his knees. He hated when it was Yennefer's turn to be interrogated. At least the beatings and threats to destroy his hands or voice were evils he knew. Yennefer never talked about what happened to her when they were separated. What she told Jaskier was one of the few things she still had control over - the dima... demo... fuck it, he never got that word right, magic-blocking cuffs on her wrists and mind-probing mages here proving to make autonomy a rarity within this place's walls - so the bard didn't pry. Sometimes he felt curious, but knowing what they put her through would have probably made him wish he had information to tell them, he thought, just to make it stop.---Jaskier and Yennefer are imprisoned by NIlfgaard together. Yennfer comes back in a bad state after being interrogated. She's sad and exhausted. Jaskier comforts her. That's the fic.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	get on your hands and knees and pray for us

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Lone Star by The Front Bottoms yesterday, thought "oh what if Yennefer told Jaskier "get on your hands and knees and pray for us" while they were imprisoned together", and now, this morning, instead of doing my uni reading... this happened.  
> Enjoy!  
> Title insp. by "Lone Star" by The Front Bottoms

One day - maybe one night? It was hard to tell anymore - Jaskier was curled up in the corner of his and Yennefer's cell, waiting for her to be brought back from one of Nilfgaard's "interrogations", called only as such because "interrogate", to an unknowing ear, sounded more civil than the atrocities Nilfgaard really carried out to get what they wanted.

And what they wanted was information of the whereabouts of Geralt of Rivia and Princess Cirilla; information which the imprisoned bard and mage didn't have, nor would they have given it up if they knew.

But that didn't make Nilfgaard's efforts gentler. Not at all.

Jaskier hung his head, burying it against his knees. He hated when it was Yennefer's turn to be interrogated. At least the beatings and threats to destroy his hands or voice were evils he knew. Yennefer never talked about what happened to her when they were separated. What she told Jaskier was one of the few things she still had control over - the dima... demo... fuck it, he never got that word right, _magic-blocking_ cuffs on her wrists and mind-probing mages here proving to make autonomy a rarity within this place's walls - so the bard didn't pry. Sometimes he felt curious, but knowing what they put her through would have probably made him wish he had information to tell them, he thought, just to make it stop.

In any case, he wasn't wondering what she was going through right now, so much as he wondered when she'd be coming back.

_Fuck._ Jaskier thought. _What if she's not coming back? What if Nilfgaards finally gotten a clue to separate us for good? What if they waited for us to bond so they could take us from one another? Playing the long game, Nilfgaard?_

_...What if they went too far? What if she's... what if they..._

No. She couldn't be. She was alive. He knew it. Melitele herself could tell her it was her time to go, and Yennefer of Vengerberg would tell her to wait until she was good and ready. She was fine. She was _fine_. She was -

Jaskier lifted his head at the sound of the door slamming open with the _shriek_ of rusted metal hinges and the light coming in through the torch-lit doorway, making him squint. Still, he could see Yennefer's backlit form get shoved through the door, where she stumbled to the ground. His worry for the mage didn't even give him time to relish in the light from the corridor until the door slammed shut again.

His eyes fell on Yennefer, who still lay on the ground a few feet in front of him. She'd landed on her front, her cuffs likely digging into her abdomen or chest underneath her weight. He didn't approach her yet, waiting for her to try to push herself up. The first time he'd rushed to her after a session, she snapped that she didn't need his help. He knew her anger wasn't so much at the gesture, so much as what it implied. That she was weak. Breaking. That she couldn't even push herself upright without help. So, he waited a few more moments.

But she still didn't move. Or speak.

This wasn't good. After the more... well, somewhat less-brutal sessions, Yennefer would have spun back around to spit insults at the guards. Hell, even after the particularly brutal interrogations, she'd still be letting out strings of curses (not actual curses, thanks to the cuffs, but only crude language) and stay on one side of the room, hoping to be left alone, which Jaskier usually did.

But this wasn't like either of those instances. She just laid there, the rise and fall of her back as she took in deep breaths being the only evidence that this wasn't her corpse.

"...Yennefer?" Jaskier prompted from where he'd sat. "This was a bad one, wasn't it?"

She still didn't say anything yet, but she did roll onto her side. A small victory. Her hair - knotted and tangled, far less glamorous than it usually was when she had... well, glamour - fell in front of most of her face, but as she stared at the wall ahead of her - she'd landed with the top of her head facing Jaskier, so she stared at the wall to his left - the bard could see the shine of dried tears on her face, illuminated by the few rays of torchlight that came through the barred window of their cell. No. Not tears. He hated when she cried, and even more, he hated that he wasn't there for her when it happened. He was near-sure she'd still stave off vulnerability in his presence, but it still would have been better than not being there at all.

Finally, he heard her voice.

"Do you still believe in the gods?"

It was a quiet voice, drained of its usual pride like Yennefer herself was drained of her usual magic. Jaskier's relief at the sound of her voice was soon overshadowed by the confusion he found at her question.

"Yennefer, you're hurt. They've taken a toll on you. This is hardly the time for theology discussio-"

_"Do you still believe in the fucking gods?"_ She snapped, a waver in her voice that made Jaskier's heart crack.

"...Why?"

She sighed. Not even an indignant huff. Just a sigh. She lifted her head to face him, taking her eyes off the wall ahead of her.

She looked him dead in the eyes and said...

"Jaskier, if you still believe in the gods above, _get on your hands and knees and pray for us._ "

This wasn't like Yennefer. She was never one to beg for the help of anyone, even when she needed it. Jaskier could still remember her fight with Geralt on that mountain.

_"I didn't need your help!"_

He remembered the first time he'd offered to put his doublet over her when he'd once seen her shivering in her corner of the cell. They'd still been rather cold and catty toward each other at that point, early on in their cellmatery (that may not have been a word, but Jaskier was a bard, so he could make up words if he wanted, damn it), so they kept to different corners of the cell that they rarely crossed over to.

_"You think I need your charity?"_ She'd spat, again determined to stave off signs of weakness.

_"I think you're cold."_ He'd told her matter-of-factly as he laid it over her shoulders.

When she'd thought he wasn't looking, she'd pulled it tighter around herself.

He never let her know he was looking.

No, the mage on the ground in front of him now, telling him to beg to the gods... he'd been half-tempted to believe he was still separated from Yennefer, and this was some doppler. But he knew that wasn't the case.

"Your hands have been idle since these bastards took your lute," she'd said in a small voice, clearly trying to keep it from shaking, "so make them useful by getting on your hands and knees and _fucking_ _pray_ _for us_."

...He shook his head. He did get on his hands and knees, but only to crawl over to her. There was no better use of his hands and knees than to use them to get to Yennefer.

He'd sat on his ankles, skin still rubbed raw from a particularly nasty stress position he'd been made to hold in his last "interrogation" session of his own, and with his outer thigh against her shoulder as she still lay where she was, barely moving, he gently turned her onto her back so her head fell into his lap.

She looked up at him. That's all she did. All she had the energy to do. As he looked down at her, he gently parted her hair so he could see her face.

No new cuts or bruises. Just tears.

He'd passed his fingers through her hair, parting knots when he'd found them without making Yennefer so much as wince.

"Is this nice?"

She nodded minutely.

"...Bad night?"

She nodded again.

"Or bad day. Hard to tell." she told him, clipped. Her eyes grew heavier, and Jaskier stopped moving one of his hands through her hair, just to caress her cheek.

"Rest, Yenny. Please." He told her softly. None of his typical, bardly flair found itself in his voice. Just... softness.

"The morning will be better." He lied.

Still, Yennefer listened to him. She shut her eyes finally, and after a few moments, as he still ran his fingers through her hair, her breathing slowed in a way it only ever did when she fell asleep. He'd watched it happen enough times to know how to pinpoint it.

...He didn't believe in the gods anymore.

Gods who would make them endure this - who would make Yennefer of Vengerberg, the most powerful mage he'd ever known, endure shackles and torture and tears in these stone walls - weren't worth his belief, let alone his praise.

The only thing Julian Alfred Pankratz believed in lay asleep with her head in his lap, finally feeling some semblance of peace after what she'd been put through. Not the gods. Not Melitele. Not the saints or churches or clergy. Not even Destiny. He believed in Yennefer.

And he hoped she'd tell him what happened when she woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> If this ending was too sad... then just imagine that Geralt burst through the door 10 seconds later to rescue them! :)  
> Tumblr: toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account


End file.
